


Takeaways: DW

by CompanyPolicy



Series: And All The Little Deaths Before [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Male Masturbation, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, POV The Doctor (Doctor Who), but this is mostly just drabbles from The Doctor's point of view, probably, that's for the 2nd chapter too, the non-con tags are for the 2nd chapter, this is a companion story to my other story And All the Little Deaths Before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompanyPolicy/pseuds/CompanyPolicy
Summary: me @ my teenage self: what the ever loving FUCK is this and why did you write it??????my teenage self: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	1. Drabbles 1

**Impression**

His first meeting with her left much to be desired. He didn't even have a proper conversation to her! Not to mention the fact that they ran into each other on the street! But she'd been polite, friendly even, and she had such a nice smile. Their second meeting was slightly better. She'd drug him inside the Tyler residence with a fierceness he hadn't thought she was capable of and hadn't even blinked when he'd told her how he could feel the turn of the earth. The third meeting was by far the best, though. She'd strutted into his TARDIS without his knowledge and proved she was from another dimension. At first, he thought she would demand he take her back home, but she didn't. She had calmly told him that she was supposed to be his companion. She said he wasn't going to get rid of her easily. And he believed her. He might've practically ignored her during their first two meetings, but now he couldn't. This little human girl had demanded his attention, and she got it. Oh, yes, The Doctor knew that Dahlia had made a very large impression on him.

**Companion**

The Doctor was scared, not that he would admit it. Right now, was the perfect opportunity for Dahlia to refuse becoming his companion. She could walk away with that whimpering kid Mickey, and he would never bother her again. But he didn't want her to. He wanted to show her all the different stars and planets and species that made of the galaxy. He didn't want to let this odd little human go. It was strange, he thought, how quickly he'd become attached to her, even though she'd given him orders and scolded him like a child. She said she was brought here to fill the void where anther girl was supposed to be, yet it felt right for her to stand beside him.

It turned out his fear was irrational. Dahlia gave no thought to the boy's pleas for her to stay. She just turned on her heel and marched back to him; back to his side to be his companion.

**Impressive**

How? How could she not be impressed? Sure, he knew she'd know some things, but he didn't think she'd be finishing his sentences! Dahlia seemed to know everything. How was he supposed to be impressive when she already knew everything?

**Green**

He was not jealous. The Doctor did not get jealous, especially not over simple things like companions racing off to talk to other species. That was what he encouraged, wasn't it? Accepting of new cultures and aliens? Then why did he hate the Face of Boe for grabbing her attention so easily?

**Telepathic**

So, she knew he was telepathic? Big deal. Nothing special about that. But then she had to go and ask for him to  _show her_. Obviously, she didn't know what that entailed! He panicked, for apparent reasons: People didn't ask that out of the blue, and dammit, that was personal! You don't just link minds with someone on a  _whim_. Only family, close friends, and lovers were allowed that privilege.

His hearts thudded in his chest. He wanted to. God, he really wanted to.

He didn't want to disappoint her, and even though her face gave nothing away, he could see her eagerness sparkling behind her eyes. The Doctor swallowed and steeled himself. Yes, he would make an exception for her.

**Watermelon**

Now that The Doctor thought about it, he probably shouldn't have kissed her. He'd crossed an imaginary line, invaded her space, and broken his rule all at once. He knew this and mulled it over in his mind as he continued to kiss her. He didn't regret it. Not one bit. Her mouth was small compared the others of her generation (Plumping lips with different lipsticks and tonics and chemicals—he'd never understand humans), and her lips were soft and had a barely-there pout, making him want to nibble at them. So, he did.

Tilting her head for better access, The Doctor barely stopped a groan when he heard her breath hitch. He felt her cheeks radiate heat against his skin.

She wasn't kissing back, but that was all right; she seemed to be in a state of shock, judging from how rigid she was sitting. That was all right, as long as she wasn't shoving him away in disgust.

After keeping up what was the longest (and best) kiss of his long life, The Doctor decided to pull away. He swore he felt her lean toward him a fraction, but his endorphin-addled brain was probably just playing tricks on him. He blinked his eyes back into focus and took in her expression.

He had to turn his smug smirk into a teasing grin at the last minute, because  _blimey_  . . . He did that!

Her cheeks were a deep pink, bordering on red, that spread to her ears; her pupils were blown; her mouth was puffy and dark from his abusing kiss and glistening with his saliva; her breath was coming out in soft pants.

Then she asked why he'd kissed her. He used the bribe from earlier as an excuse and she bought it easily.

When the pizza arrived, he immediately volunteered to retrieve it. He needed some space to clear his head before talking to her again. If he didn't, he'd just end up pinning her to that examination table and that wouldn't do.

As he walked down the hallway, he subconsciously licked his lips. His tongue was met with a tangy, sticky residue. Tasting it again, The Doctor smiled to himself. It was Dahlia's watermelon lip-gloss.


	2. Dirty Old Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ my teenage self: what the ever loving FUCK is this and why did you write it??????  
> my teenage self: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The Doctor jerked away from another shower of sparks. He was under the TARDIS console, rewiring the gravity stabilizers. Well, attempting to. The old girl was resisting whenever possible. Live wires, sudden flames, electrical shocks, and the rearranging underside of the console were only some of the annoyances she dealt his way.

The TARDIS rumbled irritably. She wasn't pleased with him. He was doing it all wrong . . .

"I am not doing anythin' wrong!" he snapped, glaring at the machine. "This is the right way and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop trying to kill me."

A hum filled his ears. The Doctor watched the group of wires he'd been stripping and reconnecting rewire themselves as they had been before he started working.

Scowling, The Doctor shoved himself out from under the console. "That's it. Where's my sonic?" he growled.

Ah. There it was, on the captain's chair.

He picked it up and fiddled with the settings.  _That should do it._

Something still didn't feel right. Was something wrong with the sonic?

He inspected the device meticulously, searching for any flaw. There was nothing though, except that tiny lever shouldn't have been—Oh shit!

A wild blush spread across The Doctor's cheeks, and he hastily flicked the switch off.

Damn genetic transmitter. He still didn't understand why that option was even included and, despite his many attempts to remove it, the TARDIS continuously created screwdrivers with the irritating lever.

His brain finally caught up with his annoyance.

Why hadn't he felt anything?

Sonic screwdrivers were mentally—or physically—grafted to an owner. The reason for that was so the sonic and its owner could bond, so to speak. The owner would be able to mentally order the sonic to change settings. Of course, it didn't stop other people from using said sonic, which was a ridiculous oversight.

That still didn't answer the question.

The Doctor inspected the screwdriver, having no real hope of finding any indicator as to who its owner was. A screen on the console clicked on. He ignored it in favor of giving the sonic an inquisitive look. "Where did you come from?" The Doctor wondered out loud.

The TARDIS buzzed harshly. She would not be patient with her thief today, not when there was an opportunity to grasp.

The Doctor scowled and glared at the glowing cylinder at the center of the console. "What?!"

The screen swiveled in his direction.

Giving his ship one last grimace, he muttered unhappily, "Fine. First, I'll see what you want. Then I'll see about the sonic."

He immediately recognized the room displayed on the screen; it was Dahlia's room. Why would the TARDIS show him her room?

Dahlia entered the room. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing her pajamas, navy blue shirt and shorts, both so thin he could almost see straight through them, decorated with the Grumpy Day CareBear. When he'd first seen her in them, he'd nearly choked on his tongue and had barely saved himself with a biting comment. Even now, watching her on the screen, he could see she wasn't wearing a bra. Of course, she wasn't. She never wore one to bed.

The Doctor wrenched his eyes away. He shouldn't be watching her. It was wrong. He flicked the screen off. Back to the screwdriver.

The TARDIS hissed in annoyance and turned the monitor back on. He needed to watch her when he tested the sonic screwdriver.

"What? There's no way," The Doctor protested. "You honestly think it belongs to her? Don't be ridiculous . . ." But his tone was less sure than before. He gave the screen a shifty glance. What if the sonic did belong to her? He could probably just ask her. Dahlia only lied to him when it was absolutely necessary, and he doubted him knowing about her sonic screwdriver would cause the universe to collapse.

He looked at the sonic again, biting his lip as he lightly thumbed the tiny lever he'd panicked over earlier. It was wrong, where his thoughts were going. He swore never to go down that lane, and he shouldn't entertain thoughts of that nature, but . . . it was so tempting . . .

Maybe . . . just for a second . . .

The Doctor clicked the switch into place and turned to watch Dahlia's reaction.

She'd crawled under her covers, expecting to sleep, but now her eyes were wide open, and her body had stiffened. She knew something had happened but didn't know what it was.

That was proof enough, wasn't it? No, no, it could've been a coincidence . . . The Doctor swallowed thickly and shifted his grip on the sonic. Dahlia twitched under the sheets. He let out a shuddering breath. Again, a possible coincidence.

The Doctor licked his lips. One direct movement. That's it. He wouldn't violate her any more than that. Once would be just enough to confirm that the sonic belonged to Dahlia and satisfy his perverted mind.

Lifting his thumb to lightly stroke a long line up the sonic's side; The Doctor attempted to rid himself of his nerves (excitement) but only caused his hand to spasm. His thumb moved roughly over the metal surface. Instead of caressing, his calluses scraped.

Dahlia's reaction was instantaneous. Her hips jerked, and her eyes widened. But the most beautiful part was her sharp inhalation of breath, broken only by the soft ending cry.

That was it. Enough. Proof and satisfaction in one go. Now he could switch off the genetic transmitter, put the sonic down, and forget everything he'd just done. But he couldn't. He couldn't forget. He couldn't stop—not after letting that sliver of lust, of desire, slip through.

"Dahlia, I'm so sorry," he whispered regretfully.

Then he licked a long line up the sonic.

A long, surprised moan reached his ears from the screen. His cock hardened at the sound. Whatever guilt he felt was pushed to the back of his mind for later submersing. Right now, he'd bask in the pleasured cries of his companion.

He lightly blew on the cooling line he'd licked. Dahlia squirmed in her bed, whimpering. Her eyes were clouded with pleasure. Her cheeks were flushed with it. There was no sign of recognition; she had no clue what was happening, only that it felt amazing.

The Doctor groaned in the back of his throat. His fingers expertly teased every button and switch on the sonic. He knew every sensation each one would cause. He'd done this to himself a few times; he'd done it with others, too. Teasing and being teased.

He knew to start off slowly. Dahlia had never used this function of her sonic before and, if he wasn't careful, the pleasure she felt could easily turn to pain.

He winced lightly. The memory of his first fumbled attempts with this sort of pleasure still pained him to think about.

Another needy moan from Dahlia broke his trance. The Doctor refocused his eyes on the screen, breath hitching in his throat as he did so.

Dahlia had shoved her covers onto the floor. Her shirt had ridden up so far to expose the round bottoms of her breasts. One of her hands tore the sheets beneath her while the other clawed at her thigh, under the waistband of her shorts.

The Doctor's pants became unbearably tight. While he had been lost in thought, Dahlia had been attempting to pleasure herself, but something had stopped her.

He looked down at the sonic to see what he'd done to make her pause.

Oh . . . well that would certainly do it.

His thumb was absentmindedly rolling and pressing a small pale green button, the technological G-spot. He paused his ministrations long enough for them both to catch their breath. For several seconds, The Doctor just watched her, the object of his desire, lie there panting. His length was throbbing, and he could feel the pre-cum smear on the inside of his jeans when he shifted.

Dahlia seemed to have calmed down by now. She was still flushed but not thrashing like she had been moments before.

The Doctor wondered if she would attempt to sleep now the assault on her senses had stopped. He was shocked and aroused at what she did instead.

The young, human woman sat up quickly to discard her shirt uncaringly.

The Doctor nearly came right then.

Mesmerized by the new sight of her breasts, The Doctor almost didn't realize his companion had flopped back on her bed and lifted her hips, shoving off her shorts and knickers in one short move.

The Doctor leaned heavily against the console with his head bent down and cock straining against his trousers and inhaled deeply. Only his sheer will power kept him from ruining that particular pair of jeans.

He looked up in time to see Dahlia's hand caress between her thighs.

A loud moan escaped him. He didn't care if Dahlia heard.

Not wanting her to get off yet, The Doctor lifted the sonic to his mouth and sucked on the tiny green button.

Dahlia, who had stopped moaning in favor of taking near-silent, shallow breaths, let out a stunned, quivering cry and jerked her hand away from her folds.

The Doctor couldn't take any more. Stuffing the blue-tipped end of the sonic in his mouth (Dahlia began whimpering again); he hastily undid his button and zip. His engorged, weeping cock sprung free, begging for attention.

He took his member in hand and pumped it slowly, groaning around the sonic in his mouth. The vibrations flowed into the sonic. Dahlia responded with light jerks of her hips.

Keeping one hand on his cock, The Doctor used the other to steady the screwdriver in his mouth as he laved it with his tongue.

Her moans and cries increased in volume until he could hear her, not just from the screen, but down the hall as well. The Doctor could even smell her arousal and sweat. Literally, he could. The TARDIS had rerouted the ventilation system, so now he was surrounded in Dahlia's delicious scent. Every time he breathed he could taste her on his tongue.

The Doctor quickened his strokes, pausing at the red tip to smear pre-come along the sensitive flesh. Heat was rapidly pooling in his gut. Whatever blood that wasn't in his dick pounded in his ears. Even while he watched Dahlia writhe in pleasure in her bed, slick with sweat and flush with arousal and pleasure, her breasts heaving as she gasped for air, one of his favorite fantasies reared its head.

He easily imagined her on her knees in front of him. She always smirked in this fantasy, no matter what he thought about. Always teasing 'til it was downright painful. And he loved every second of it. Her mouth was small, but it always fit around his cock without incident. The Doctor imagined Dahlia would enjoy sucking him off. Her fingers would wander between her thighs and fuck her core even when he fucked her mouth. She always came seconds after he did, right when his cum would spill into her mouth. She always swallowed. And then she'd smirk up at him like nothing had happened.

The Doctor's jaw tightened, and he squeezed the base of his cock tightly. He had almost come. He was only going to indulge himself like this once, and if he was, he wasn't going to come before he watched her orgasm first.

He sucked on the sonic and stroked whatever part wasn't in his mouth. His nostrils flared to inhale more of Dahlia's intoxicating scent. The Doctor wasn't sure if he could stop himself from coming a second time.

It seemed he wouldn't have to, though; Dahlia was letting out a soft keen and grinding her hips against the air. Her eyes were glazed over with pleasure. Then her entire body tightened, from her head being thrown back into the pillows to her toes pointing. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes drooped half closed. Whatever she called out upon her completion was drowned out by The Doctor's own shout of bliss.

The coil in his gut tightened until it forcefully unwound. Thick, white jets of cum spilled over his hand, dripping onto the metal grating below or staining his boots; some had collected on the console in a small pool.

The Doctor gasped for breath as he swayed. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen had he not caught himself on the console with his stained hand. The Doctor gently glided the sonic from his mouth, switching the genetic transmitter off.

Even through the fog of one of the greatest orgasms of his life, guilt settled in. What had he done? How disgusting of a person was he? He had just jerked off to his friend while using her sonic to molest her. If Dahlia knew she'd demand to be dropped off in Cardiff. No—first she'd punch him, and then she'd leave.

The Doctor wiped his palm off on his pants in disgust. He wondered if Dahlia would hate him as much as he hated himself.


	3. Drabbles 2

**Arguing**

The Doctor hated arguing—no, fighting. Their arguments always turned into fights.

He hated fighting with her. They were pointless fights, too. He knew she would win before he even started shouting, but he couldn’t stop it. It was so easy to blame her for his mistakes. Dahlia didn’t deserve all the hateful things he spat when he was angry. He could see his words take their toll, how her emotional shields would end up battered and scarred after another fight with him.

The Doctor wished he was a bigger man. Then he could accept his own mistakes and he wouldn’t have to make her suffer.

**Relief**

She only wanted to visit. She wasn’t leaving him. He would’ve praised Rassilon if all he wanted to do wasn’t to just hug the human woman and thank her for staying.

**Awe**

He was in awe of this woman. He couldn’t bloody _breathe_ because of her. Her and the way she’d just defended him—to Jackie Tyler of all people! He wanted to kiss her then. No, he wanted to drop to his knees and worship her, beg her for an explanation as to why she had such faith in him when she shouldn’t. She should be running away from him, not with him, and yet here she was. Still with him while she knew she could probably die any minute now.

His control was slipping. He could feel it. The longer he held her stare the more he needed to show her just how much he appreciated her. But then Ricky started talking, and they were all back to business.

**Almost**

So that was what Rose looked like. She was pretty, but she just didn’t fit. Maybe she would’ve, in another universe that hadn’t almost fallen apart but not here. The Doctor couldn’t even begin to picture someone else in Dahlia’s place now, or even when she first stepped foot onto the TARDIS. She just . . . belonged there.

He knew he was dancing on thin ice as soon as he said he preferred brunettes to blondes, but it was her move now, though. He would go off whatever cues she gave him.

As Dahlia straightened her back and set her shoulders, the new, determined look in her eyes caused chills to run up and down his spine. And then she began to lean in . . .

They were so close to each other that he could feel her breath on his lips.

Of course that would be the moment the TARDIS lurched wildly to the side, causing both Dahlia and him to jerk away from each other (and him to topple to the floor).

He didn’t know how to recover from that, so he ran. Like a coward.

**I’m here**

_Dahlia. Oh, Dahlia._ It was the only thing The Doctor could think as he cradled her smaller body to his chest, rocking gently in a fruitless attempt at soothing her agony.

Seeing her like this broke his heart. He had never wanted to see this happen to her; she didn’t deserve this kind of pain.  It wasn’t her fault she was here, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t go back to her world.

Screwing his eyes shut, he kissed her forehead and muttered in her ear, “Sshhh . . . I’m here, love.  I’m here.”

**Betrayal**

How could she? How could she keep that kind of information from him? The Dalek race still existed and she knew! She knew the entire time they had been traveling together and had never told him! Didn’t she know how much he had sacrificed to get rid of the Daleks?

No. No, of course she did. Dahlia may not know everything about this universe, but she knew a lot, and The Time War was definitely one of those things.

The rage boiled under his skin and it came through as he roughly drug her back into the TARDIS and locked her inside.

If she wasn’t on his side in this, then she was just in the way.


	4. Drabbles 3

**Ultimatum**

She’d given him an ultimatum—either realize that she couldn’t and wouldn’t tell him everything or find another companion, someone who didn’t know about his travels.

It stung, but he deserved it. He’d locked her in the TARDIS and then gone off into Van Statten’s museum alone. And gotten captured. Dahlia had nearly died all because he wouldn’t trust her. The Dalek would’ve died on its own anyway. Instead, he had let his anger get the best of him, and people had died.

He wondered why she even gave him an option at all.

**Green II**

Rationally, he knew that Dahlia was only playing the part she needed so they wouldn’t be executed, but that didn’t stop his jealousy from showing.

He had just wanted to apologize, maybe even put a few moves on Dahlia. Ya know, show her a romantic time.

Then, they had gotten captured. And the King had proposed to Dahlia. She had come up with a miraculous plan right on the spot. Really, she had. He just wished it hadn’t included her pretending to schmooze with the King.

Hot rage boiled inside him whenever he thought about it. It wasn’t fair to Dahlia for him to keep taking it out on her, but she was the only person within reach. And sometimes it was easier to argue with her than to deal with his own issues.

**Deserving**

She didn’t expect anything of him. Not stability. Not children. Not even a spoken statement of his feelings for her. He didn’t deserve her, but Void take him if he wouldn’t try to.

**Ecstasy**

Her legs over his shoulders. Her thighs cradling his face. Her taste coating his mouth and tongue. Her moans filling the air. Her inner walls clenching around his tongue as she came.

He could die happy here.

**Captain**

Jack Harkness wasn’t a bad man. Stupid and overly friendly, sure, but most people from the 51st century were. The Doctor had nothing personal against him. Though, it would be nice if he stopped flirting with Dahlia at every opportunity. The Doctor didn’t want to admit it, but it brought out his insecurities about his and Dahlia’s relationship. He was too old for her and an alien. Surely, she would have an easier time being involved with Jack than with him.

But, as always, Dahlia assured him that there was nothing to fear. She wasn’t going anywhere, and no amount of flirting from attractive strangers would change that.

The Doctor vowed to stop assuming the worst in every situation. Dahlia could not only handle herself, as she had proven time and time again, but she could handle most other people in her way, too.

But he would give the threesome some serious thought.

**Question**

He shouldn’t have asked that. He shouldn’t have asked that. Heshouldn’thaveaskedHeshouldn’thaveaskedHeshouldn’thaveaskedHeshouldn’thaveasked.

Too late now.

**Tricked**

He should’ve known that the extrapolator was a trap. No way would Margaret not think of every possible scenario. Now, Dahlia was a hostage and the TARDIS was being pulled apart. He needed a plan, and he needed it now.

**Note**

She was dead. Her last act had been to give him a small piece of paper.

“Doctor,” Jack said, “what does it say?”

The Doctor stared blankly at him. He should read the note. It was her last act, so he should honor her. He unfolded the paper with hands made steady by shock.

 _I’m not dead. Daleks_.

**Return**

She had come back for him. Of course, she had. Why had he ever doubted her? But not only had she come back for him, but she had looked into the heart of the TARDIS to do it. He could feel the Vortex energy burning through her. Her eyes glowed with golden fire. There was no fury on her face, just cool determination. Her words and will were made fact with a wave of her hand.

She offered him Gallifrey. Everything he could ever want offered with the easy grace Dahlia accomplished everything with. His goddess, his Dahlia.

**New**

New teeth, new body, new mind, new Doctor. Same Dahlia. Same wonderful woman looking up at him as he rambled on about the strangest things. He’d show her the universe. Anything she wanted she would get. Anything she wanted to see he would get her there. Amazing, beautiful, brilliant, glorious Dahlia Tombew. She was shouting at him. Something about Earth? Going to Earth! She wanted to go to Earth? Then, they’d go to Earth!

**Wrong**

Something was wrong with Dahlia. Her cardigan was missing. She said she’d left it downstairs, but Dahlia never left her clothing anywhere unless cultural customs forced her to. She always dressed in weather-appropriate clothes so she wouldn’t have to continuously fuss with her clothing.

Something was very wrong at this hospital. They’d done something to Dahlia, and The Doctor would find out what.

**Fear**

Never again. He couldn’t do that ever again. He couldn’t leave her to face an enemy alone again. He should have demanded to stay with her. Two would have been better against the Wolf than one. He knew she had some sort of weapon, but that didn’t matter. She could have died. For one horrible moment, he thought he’d lost her, like on Satellite 5. To watch her die . . . No, he wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t let it happen.

**Owned**

Dahlia had fallen asleep quickly as they laid in their post-coital bliss. The Doctor, though exhausted, stayed awake just so he could lazily trace the marks decorating his body.

He hadn’t expected to like being marked, let alone crave it, but he did. He burned with the need for Dahlia’s nails, teeth, mouth, _anything_ on him, leaving red and purple marks on his body that would hopefully stay for days. He wanted them higher. Dahlia had focused on areas that would be covered by his clothes. He knew it was probably a subconscious choice; she didn’t want him to feel trapped or as if she expected anything from him. But oh, did he want her to _take_. To own him. To mark him, so that everyone they met would know who he belonged to, who he would always return to.


End file.
